


5 Times John's Voice Kept Sherlock Sane and 1 Time Sherlock's Voice Kept John Sane

by PaolaWarbler



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, based on a headcanon, but with a hopeful ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:52:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1582334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaolaWarbler/pseuds/PaolaWarbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock always hears John’s voice in his head. It’s the only thing keeping his sane at he travels through to get back home. Post-Reichenbach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Times John's Voice Kept Sherlock Sane and 1 Time Sherlock's Voice Kept John Sane

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Based on a headcanon for The Empty Hearse. In the scene where Sherlock hears John’s voice while investigating the false skeleton, people believed that hearing John’s voice was Sherlock’s defense mechanism to deal with taking Moriarty’s network down.

**January 24th, 2012**

A big muscled man waited near the door while the ring leader of the group watched a video feed of one of the rooms. The feed showed a video of one of the rooms. The feed showed a man in a small, cramped room sitting the corner. There was no audio on the video so there was no way to tell if he was muttering to himself. The ring-leader, though, cracked a big smile as the video showed the door being opened and two thugs coming in. The dirty man on the floor barely moved from his spot, his long, ginger hair covering his face. The two men came up to him and they lifted him up by the arms. The prisoner came willingly, body too weak from exhaustion and malnourishment. The ring-leader stood up and walked out the door. He walked down a long, cold hallway before coming upon an open door. Inside the ginger-haired man was tied to a chair, bound and gagged. The two thugs were in their respective corners, waiting for instructions. The ring-leader came up to the man in the chair and started speaking in Polish. The prisoner didn’t answer any of his questions. The leader motioned to one of the thugs and he came up and punched the prisoner in the face. No reaction. Sherlock Holmes wasn’t entirely there with the two men. In his mind, he was sitting at 221B Baker Street, in the kitchen, experimenting. John Watson walked in, frowning at the bacteria culture in his mug. “You know, I don’t know why I even try to be surprised anymore.” Sherlock just hummed but he hid a smirk behind his microscope. “Co ty tu robisz? Kogo pracujesz?” _(What are you doing here? Who do you work for?)_ The fantasy was broken for a moment by the harsh sound of the leader. Sherlock barely acknowledged the punch in his gut. “Because you’re an idiot.” The fond sentence whispered through Sherlock’s head. And so, Sherlock survived his first interrogation/torture session.

**February 10th, 2012**

Sleeping in the wilderness was not something anticipated when he went for Moriarty’s network. But he was slightly surprised at himself for not considering it. The heat of the rainforest beat down upon him. He was down to a borrowed tank top and shorts yet nothing could relieve him from this unbearable heat. He wished he was in London right now. It would be nice and cool with the constant rain always falling down. Of course, it always rained in this rainforest in Argentina as well but it was a muggy, sticky kind of rain that offered no relief. Sherlock closed his eyes and wished he was back in London. Sherlock was sitting in his leather chair, plucking at his violin strings. John came down from his room, still in his pajamas; hair sticking up at all ends. Sherlock smiled to himself. He didn’t know why but seeing John all disheveled made him happy. “Is it snowing outside?” John asked, as he walked to the coffee maker. Sherlock peeked out the windows. “Yes, apparently so.” John made a noise from the kitchen and started to make coffee. A few minutes later, John walked out with a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. He walked to the desk and opened up his laptop. “You know when I was a kid, Harry and I used to go out and play in the snow all the time.” John mused out loud, looking out the window. Sherlock turned to him. “I remember once a long time ago, Mycroft and I went outside to play in the snow with the other kids. Of course, it didn’t end so well.” John looked at Sherlock and smiled. “Oh, and why’s that? Did you tell them that Santa wasn’t real or something?” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “No, nothing like that. No, actually, we beat them all in a snowball fight.” John’s eyes widened comically. “You and Mycroft had a snowball fight?” Sherlock smirked, always enjoying it when he got to surprise John. “Oh yes. My brother and I were very good at it actually. He would always plan out the strikes and I’d go out and execute them. No one even got close to touching us.” Sherlock grinned to hear John’s laugh. “Oh my god, I can’t believe that.” A few moments later, John got up hurriedly. Sherlock stared at him as John went back upstairs. He heard him rummaging around in his room and then John came back downstairs. John was fully dressed but over that he had his coat and gloves on. “Come on, then.” Sherlock stared at him, quizzically. John walked over and gave a hand to Sherlock. “I was the number one snowball fighter in my neighbourhood. I want to see if you could beat me.” Sherlock grinned and pulled on his coat as fast as he could. “We’ll see about that.” Sherlock didn’t notice the sweltering heat of the rainforest anymore, not after playing in the London snow with John Watson.

**May 22nd, 2012**

The rushed pace of the open air market matched the pace of Sherlock’s heart as he stalked one of the middle-men of Moriarty’s criminal web. The smell of spices and Bosnian conversation overwhelmed him as he passed discreetly by as a tourist. “That’s a ridiculous get-up.” John commented from where he was next to Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Well, you try getting through Bosnia discreetly as a six foot, white man with a British accent.” John just chuckled. Sherlock stopped at a stand selling mirrors. He picked one up and kept an eye on the woman he was trailing. “Sill, you could’ve tried something different. I dunno. Dressed up like one of those fire-eaters over there.” Sherlock turned his head to the man currently swallowing a stick of fire. He smirked. “John, you have too much faith in what I can become.” John just laughed. Sherlock was a silent shadow in the loud, noisy marketplace. “Come on, John.” He whispered as they started to close upon her. The woman took a sharp corner into an alleyway. Sherlock shushed John and stealthily followed the woman into it. Unfortunately, she knew she was being tailed and started off at a run. “Come on, John! We’re going to lose her!” Sherlock yelled as his feet began to pick up speed. The woman was many feet ahead of them but Sherlock had surveyed this part of the city before and had used several shortcuts to bypass the woman. By the time, the woman turned a corner, Sherlock was waiting for her. “Hello, Chaaya. Trazila sam te.” _(Hello, Chaaya. I’ve been looking for you.)_ Sherlock turned to smile at John but found nothing behind him. He felt something cold wrap around himself and turned to Chaaya. She stood tall and had a cold expression on her face. He narrowed his eyes at her and grabbed her by the arm. “Bilo je krajnje vreme smo imali mali razgovor.” _(It’s about time we had a little chat.)_ As he walked her back to the place he had designed to hold her, he couldn’t help but glance back. John wasn’t there.

**October 29th, 2012**

Sherlock walked around the streets of New York City. It was a very loud, very corporate place. It was a big city like London but it lacked anything that made London…London. Sherlock gritted his teeth as people constantly bumped into his tall frame. Before Moriarty died, he was setting his sights on America. He had decided to try to get a piece of action here. Sherlock observed three men as they made their way down the street, looking very out of place. Two of the men, brothers Sherlock deduced, were wearing plaid and the shorter one had a green duffle bag with him. He seemed to be the oldest and the leader in the group by the way he led them through the clouds. The man in the back was very awkward in his form, his long, tan trench coat billowing behind him. Sherlock felt a slight pang from his Belstaff. But he pressed on. Sherlock heard from his mole that the head men that were supposed to start Moriarty’s reach here were having a meeting today on what to do now that Moriarty was dead. Sherlock had to figure out which warehouse though because his mole had been unhelpful with that piece of information. The men Sherlock had been observing earlier bumped into him. “Oh, sorry.” The oldest man said in a gruff voice. Sherlock nodded. “Okay, Sammy, Cas, we’ve got to find these sons of bitches before sundown, got it?” The taller man with long hair nodded and the man with the trench coat was staring at Sherlock with a deep, penetrating gaze. “Cas? Cas!” The oldest man snapped at him. Cas, obviously, snapped out of it and returned his gaze to the man. “Yes, Dean, I heard you.” Dean gave Sherlock a once-over again and then walked away, the two men following. Sherlock walked on. “Interesting men.” John stated behind him. “The leader, Dean, and Sammy, the man with the long hair, are brothers.” Sherlock stated. “Cas…” Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “Cas is a friend of theirs and Dean is very protective of him. Obvious by the way Dean looked at me after Cas’ staring. Cas is a nickname and a fond one at that so they’re close friends.” “But he was pretty strange. Did you get a strange feeling when he looked at you?” John asked, next to him now. Sherlock shook his head and muttered, “I don’t know. But that’s of no consequence. We have to find these men.” John nodded and picked up his pace to match Sherlock’s long-legged strides. That little encounter was soon pushed into the back of the head of all parties involved but sometimes it would pull up in their minds, nagging at them that something was weird about it. But they never saw each other again. Sherlock had already arrested the men in Moriarty’s expanding network and Team Freewill had already killed their spirit so Sherlock was on a plane to his next destination at the same time, Cas, Dean and Sam were driving the Impala out of New York. 

****December 31st, 2012/January 1st, 2013** **

Sherlock stood in a plaza filled with people. Sherlock was waiting to meet up an informant. He had information on the latest movements of Moriarty’s next-in-command. He cursed at the amount of people here. The informant was skittish at best. Being around these many people, he might not show at all. As Sherlock stood by the fountain wearing dark trousers, white shirt and dyed light brown hair, he looked like any man in Italy for business. A young man with a curl protruding from his hair sat next to him on the fountain edge and turned to him. “Cosi chi e?” _(Who is he?)_ He asked with a smile. Sherlock’s eyebrows knitted together. “Mi scusi?” _(Excuse me?)_ The young man laughed and said, “L’amico che hai lasciato alle spalle.” _(The friend you left behind.)_ Sherlock stood there in mild shock. Who was this man and what did he know about Sherlock’s past? “I-io non capisco.” _(I-I don’t understand.)_ The man just smiled and looked up at the sky. “Forse un giorno sara. Felice anno nuovo.” _(Maybe one day you will. Happy New Year.)_ With that, the young man got up and ran to another man, a tall, blonde man with a rigid posture. He tugged at the blonde man’s hand and the blonde man smiled lovingly before bending down and giving him a light kiss. Sherlock turned away and looked at the sky, realizing it was New Years. He sighed. His informant wasn’t showing. Sherlock watched as the masses came together and ran in the New Year with each other. “Felice anno nuovo, John.” _(Happy New Year, John.)_ Sherlock whispered into the night. “Happy New Years, you wanker.” John’s voice flitted through his mind, endearingly. 

****January 15th, 2013** **

John stood in front of the black, sleek tombstone. “Sherlock Holmes” was all that it said and underneath it, many feet down, was his best friend. John fought the lump in his throat. He came here because it’s been one year. One long, arduous year since he saw his best friend jump off a rooftop and… John refused to finish that sentence. He’s been going to therapy regularly now. Once every week and Ella still caught John reading her writing upside down. John told Sherlock all of this. He told Sherlock of his thoughts on adopting a bulldog and naming it Gladstone. He laughed as he thought of Sherlock’s response to that. “Why would you bring in a dog? Too much work.” Sherlock paused for a moment, pressing his fingers to his lips. “But then again, you could let me experiment on him.” John just laughed. “No, I won’t let you experiment on my dog.” Sherlock sighed. “What else?” John then went on to tell him that he started working at another surgery. The nurse there was nice. Her name was Mary Morstan. Sherlock just snorted. John cleared his throat. Sherlock stared at him, hawk-like with those cold, blue eyes of his. “Sherlock, I-I just wanted to tell you.” John cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck, unable to continue. “Oh, for God’s sake, John. Just spit it out.” John awkwardly laughed. Even the Sherlock in his head was rude. “Sherlock, you were my best friend. And I’ll never forget you. You gave me so much and I can’t imagine my life without you.” A lump welled in John’s throat. “I couldn’t imagine my life without you.” John felt the familiar prick of tears behind his eyes. But he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, just like Ella taught him. “John.” Sherlock’s voice was close to John. He wanted to reach out and let it cover him like a safety blanket but he refused to look up from his thorough examination of the ground. “John?” Sherlock’s voice was soft and pleading. John looked up and stared into the eyes of his best friend. “I couldn’t imagine my life without you either.” John nodded quickly, the tears coming back full-force. He sat there for a few more moments, just breathing. John reached into his pocket and drew out a single, dark red carnation from his pocket. He slowly placed it on the grave, stared at it for a long moment and then turned around. John could feel his very resolve crumbling beneath him as he tried to keep it together. He almost gave in, let the encompassing pain tide over him but he just shoved it down and carried on. A shadow passed over the gravesite and a pale, slim hand grabbed the red carnation. Sherlock watched on as his best friend and the only person he truly cared about walked away. 

FIN 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: First things first, sorry, not sorry for the Superlock and the Hetalia crossover. And secondly, I totally stole the carnation idea from “We Go Anywhere But the Ground” by: geordielover (archiveofourown.org/works/331636) A dark, red carnation according to the story represents heartbreak, deep love and affection. And you should go and totally read that story because it’s such a perfect post-Reichenbach story. Just lovely.


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